


Squatter's Rights

by junko



Series: Tag, You're It... [9]
Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our proto-Benriya have fallen asleep in Chad's guest bedroom after a little afternoon delight.  Someone's in the house. Nic goes to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squatter's Rights

Something woke Nic.

Gently, so as not to wake Worick, Nic pulled himself out from under the warm heaviness of Worick’s arms. The bed was a mess, all tangled sheets and stinking of sweat and sex. Worick slept curled on his side, still hugging the space Nic had occupied. Outside, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but the light that filtered in the spattered window was still muted and gray.

Cautiously, Nic swung open the bedroom door. The hallway was empty, but someone was in the apartment. There were lights on in the living room. Nic flattened his back against the wall, staying in the shadows. 

But maybe the floorboards had creaked, giving him a way, because all of a sudden, a shadow blocked the entryway. 

Nic registered two things instantly: big and gun.

Without thinking much beyond that, he moved fast, aiming a spin side kick at the hands holding the gun. The side of his foot connected at wrist, pushing hands and gun up against the wall. Nic half-expected to see the flash from the muzzle as the gun went off, but it didn’t. The gun didn’t even discharge when it fell to the floor. That meant that this person wasn’t the sort to keep a finger on the trigger. And maybe even had the kind of gun that had a safety lock.

Someone smart.

Not a mobster, then, or a thief.

Oh.

Oh shit, it was Chad.

Chad had a similar moment of recognition…. big eyes that slowly widened into horror as Nic retracted his leg. Eyes roamed over Nic’s body and then Chad’s mouth opened and he jumped away, pointing and waving frantically at Nic’s crotch.

Nic glanced at himself. Everything seemed normal down there. When he glanced back up at Chad his face was bright red and he was saying, “Oh for god’s sake, put on some clothes! What is wrong with you?”

 _It was raining._ Nic signed, even though he couldn’t remember if Chad would understand. _Our clothes are in the drier._

If he did understand, Chad was too busy rubbing his wrist and ranting, “What are you even doing here? Did you break in? What the fuck! How long have you kids known where I live? Oh my god, please tell me you don’t do this on a regular basis! Where the fuck is Worick? You’re not here by yourself, are you? Jesus Fucking Christ! This is my house! Mine! Is nothing sacred!? Aaah!” 

At least ‘aaah!’ was how Nic decided to translate the open-mouthed rage at the end. When Chad spun around to stare down the hall, Nic knew Worick had woken up. Sure enough, a naked, disheveled Worick peered out around the doorway of the guest bedroom. Rubbing the back of his head, he smiled sheepishly and then waved, “Oh, hello, Chad-san! Welcome home!”

Chad’s eyes looked like they were going to pop straight of of his head. “Oh. My. God.” He gave Nic’s nakedness another pointed look and then turned back to Worick. “You’re both naked. Oh, that’s just…. Well…. Ah. Well, I see. Right, then, I hope you kids were being safe. You’d better fucking wash my sheets! I do not want to see any evidence of any of your… your... your shenanigans. Ever. You hear me?” His face was the color of a beet, and Nic was starting to worry that he might have a heart attack. Then, he spun around and Nic, barely caught the words, “Fuck this, I need a drink.”

Nic glanced at Worick, who collapsed in a fit of laughter. 

#

Nic put the sheets in the washing machine as Worick took out their clothes. After pulling on the still warm shirt and slightly damp jeans, they'd followed the smell of frying bacon and eggs to the kitchen. Nic had grabbed his tags from where he’d left them on the top of the drier. Perching on the three-legged stool near the narrow table in the kitchen, he looped the tags around his neck. 

Worick peered over Chad’s shoulder, asking something. He got a light whack on the head with the spatula as a response. 

Apparently following some command Nic hadn’t caught, Worick pulled down plates from the cupboard. Nic took that as a cue to get up and fetch milk from the fridge. They brought everything back to the little table, where Chad divvied up the food with an apologetic, “I don’t normally make breakfast for dinner, but I haven’t had time for a grocery run yet this week.”

“It looks great,” Worick enthused. “Thank you very much.”

Nic nodded his own thanks.

Taking his plate, Chad leaned up against the counter. He was still wearing his rumpled cop suit, but he’d taken off the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. The gun was back in its battered leather shoulder holster. “I should arrest you two for breaking and entering,” he grumbled around a forkful of eggs. “What the fuck, Worick? Don’t you have a place to stay these days?”

“Ah, well, you see,” Worick smiled apologetically, “We’re currently between places. There was spot of trouble with Big Mama, but things will cool down eventually.”

A deep frown furrowed Chad’s grizzled face. “Okay, so that’s code for what, exactly? You two didn’t have anything to do with those Tags that tried to bust up ‘Pussy’ the other night…. oh.” Chad’s gaze turned to Nic. He pointed his fork at him. “You’re the bodyguard who turned out to be a Twilight. What the hell, boys? I thought you were working for Monroe, Nic! Monroe’s not trying to muscle in on Corsica's business, is he?”

Nic shook his head. _It was personal business_.

“Right,” Worick said, “That was just a moonlighting gig. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that.”

“And now Monroe is after him, and Corsica is ticked at you. That’s just fabulous.” Chad shook his head and munched on a slice of crispy bacon. “I don’t know how you kids manage to do this. Most people live nice quiet lives not pissing off every major gangster in town. I mean, Jesus Christ, there are drug dealers who manage quieter lives than you two idiots!”

Worick smiled and shrugged, “It’s a special gift.”

Nic nibbled a bit of bacon, but his stomach flipped and soured at the taste. How many hours had it been? Did they leave Worick’s purse back at Tabitha’s? He pushed the plate away, but chugged the milk. A low grade headache itched at the edges of Nic’s consciousness at the thought of how long he might have to go before another dose.

“That’s nice of you, Chad-san,” Worick was saying when Nic glanced back at him, “But we’re staying with a friend of mine.”

“Then why the hell did you break into my place?” Chad wanted to know, carrying his empty plate to the sink. 

“You a have drier,” Worick smiled. Then a broad wink, which was really nothing more than closing his good eye and smirking, “And we wanted alone time.”

Chad’s mouth opened again and Nic could only imagine the sound he must have made. His face turned bright red again, as he turned back to give them both a hard stare and say, “Please never come back here for that sort of… nonsense. Ever.”

Worick started laughing, but Nic stood up and gave Chad a serious, grateful bow. He had no words to express how thankful he was that there was a place like this anywhere in Ergastulum that would welcome them both--a safe haven, a… home. Chad might bluster and moan, but he always treated them kindly. He didn’t have to; it wasn’t even safe for him to do so. 

When Nic lifted his head, he noticed that Worick had jumped up to join in the bow. 

Now, Chad was blushing in a totally different way, “Aw, go on, you two. Be safe now.”

#

The drizzle had almost stopped, but the air was still wet and heavy with moisture as they made their way back toward Tabitha’s. They took the back ways, moving slowly. Nic kept a sharp eye out, though he could feel himself slowing down, growing duller. 

The grayness didn’t help; he already felt as though he moved through a fog.

Worick grabbed his hand for attention. “Monroe is the one I’m worried about, you know.”

 _Funny_ , Nic signed. _Considering we know how shitty Big Mama treats you when you step out of line. And that was only a little._

“Not to her,” Worick said, “Losing a client is much worse than busting the place up.”

 _If you say so_.

Worick tugged his sleeve. “Hey. Was the... “ he cracked a little grin, “...’shenanigans’ okay?”

Just the memory gave Nic a shiver of intense pleasure. But, Worick was looking at Nic with a sincere sort of concern in his expression. 

Nic didn’t understand how a guy so good-looking and so experienced could have anything to worry about, particularly in this department. If anyone should feel awkward and stupid about it, it should be Nic and his ridiculously hyped-up nervous system that had him ready to go at the drop of a hat. But, he nodded, “ **wE cOUlD dO tHAt aGaIN. AnYtIMe.** ”

Worick relaxed into a genuine smile. 

Which stayed with him until they got to Tabitha’s… 

She met them at the door with Worick’s bright pink purse, Nic’s katana, and a bundle of their things all wadded up in her hands. “You can’t stay with me anymore,” she said thrusting the stuff into Worick’s surprised hands. “You lying piece of shit. ‘A little trouble’? You didn’t tell me your ‘little trouble’ involved Monroe. I am not getting my face slashed up for you!”

Nic grabbed his katana and turned to scan the streets. Had Yang and Delico traced them here somehow? Seeing nothing, he turned back to Worick asking, “...down. What happened? Whose face?”

Nic poked Worick’s shoulder. _We can’t talk out here. We need to get off the street._

“Let us in for a second,” Worick demanded. “Please. We need to know what’s going on, but we can’t talk out here.”

“ **wE wErEN’T foLLoWEd**.” _Tell her I can guarantee it._

“If Nic says we weren’t followed, we weren’t.” 

Her face crumpled unhappily, but with a short, brisk nod she opened the door to let them in. “Five minutes. Then I want you to leave and never come back.”

Worick’s smile was more of a grimace, “Yeah, we’re hearing that a lot today.”

Nic stayed by the door, just off to the side, so he could watch the conversation and keep an eye out for anyone approaching. The apartment was a shitty place to try to defend, though. The only other exit was a narrow basement window. They could get cornered easily here. 

Worick had followed Tabitha further into the apartment and set the bundle of their stuff on the back of the couch. Seeing the purse, he tossed it up to Nic. Nic caught it one handed and quickly helped himself to a handful of uppers. Tabitha watched their exchange with thin, angry lips. 

“So what’s got you spooked?” Worick asked, as he nonchalantly folded up shirts and pants. Things that Nic was damn sure Worick hadn’t brought with him. Did he stay with Tabitha often enough to have a change of clothes?

She leaned an ample hip against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So… I thought I’d be nice and pick up some of your stuff for you, you know, if you were going to be staying here, and when I went over to Pussy it was in a right state. The girls were freaked. They're sure there's going to be a war.”

“What? Why? Between who?” Worick asked. The clothes were in a neat bundle now, and he was fishing around through his pockets for his cigarettes.

“Corsica and Monroe,” Tabitha said. Her dark face paled at the thought, and she seemed to pull into herself. “What I hear from the girls at Big Mama’s was that two punks came in there and demanded to talk to some pretty rent boy named Trevor or Tad or something like that. Then they cut up his face and said that it was payment for tarnishing Monroe’s favorite weapon.” She glanced up hard at Nic. “His face. That boy is never going to be able to work again.”

Worick had gone very still. His hands were on the pockets of his jacket, frozen mid-search for his smokes. Slowly, his hands dropped to his sides. His shoulders slumped. “That didn’t happen,” Worick insisted. “Big Mama would never let that happen.”

“She wasn’t there,” Tabitha insisted. “It’s Tuesday.”

That obviously meant something to Worick because he flinched. But, he shook his head, “Monroe isn’t this stupid. He wouldn’t attack when he knows Mama is with Corsica. That’s like dropping a steaming pile of shit right in Corsica's lap.”

Nic glanced out the window, watching the street for signs of movement. As he did, he tried to make sense of everything. So, apparently, while they were at Chad’s someone, maybe Delico and Yang, cut up Trevor. But why Trevor? Nic had no connection to that guy. Yet Tabitha seemed to think so, the way she’d given him a pointed look. Also, Monroe’s thugs had, too, if they’d said what they had about Monroe’s favorite weapon. Nic knew Monroe talked like that about him. But, ‘tarnishing’? Was that the word Tabitha had used? What the hell could that mean? ‘Tarnishing’ sounded very… hands on. And, it wasn’t like Trevor was Nic’s lover or anything even remotely like….

Oh.

Monroe had asked Nic, that first night he’d stayed out all night, if there was some whore that was keeping him occupied at Big Mama’s. 

But, Monroe had been so far off the mark he’d thought it was a woman. Why would he have made the leap from there to Trevor, of all people? If Monroe was going to pick anyone specific to Pussy, you’d think he’d have figured that the best bet was…. 

Worick.

That was where anyone would go if they were looking for Nic.

Worick must have said something to someone at some point to put the frame on Trevor. Yang and Delico might even have asked after who Nic was seeing at Pussy. Well, Nic thought grimly, it was smart, even if it worked a little too well.

But there was one sticking point, “ **i’M nOT wORth a wAR with cORsica.** ” 

Worick nodded. “Unless he wanted war, anyway.”

Tabitha was making coffee. Her long, tight braids swayed as she searched the cabinets for cups and such. 

She must have been asking something because Worick let out a tired sigh and slumped his butt up against the back of the couch. Finding his cigarettes finally, he shook one out of the pack. “I have no idea what we're going to do, honestly,” he said. Glancing up at Nic, he added, “They’re going to expect you to be upset about Trevor. They’re probably thinking they’re flushing you out.”

Worick turned sharply at something, so Nic did, too. “...ow can you not be upset!?! He was your lover!” Tabitha was shouting. She’d clearly banged the filled coffee pot down on the counter; water splashed everywhere. “They cut his face!”

Nic tucked the strap of Worick’s purse up on his arm a bit more securely before he signed to Worick: _It was the right call. Better him than you._

Worick’s face hardened, his jaw clenching. Signing back, he said: _I should have picked someone I hated more._.

Nic shook his head. _They would have seen through anything that obvious._

To Tabitha, Worick said, “Nic’s a cold-blooded, inhuman monster. Monroe is an idiot if he thinks fucking up some whore is going to get a rise out of a Tag. If he wants war with Corsica, let him have it. It’s nothing to us.”

 _‘Cold-blooded’ is a little harsh_ , Nic signed, even though Worick wasn’t looking at him. _The only thing wrong with my blood is the smell._

“This why you need to get out of my house right now,” Tabitha said, pointing a shaking hand at the door Nic guarded. “You guys are bat-shit crazy and you’re going to bring a world of hurt down on your heads and everyone around you.”

#

“I still don’t get it,” Worick sighed, sending a blue stream of smoke from his mouth and nostrils. He hugged his pink purse and collection of clothes to his chest and sat wedged in a corner between a broad dumpster bin and a pile of wooden pallets. They’d gone back to one of their earliest haunts: a homeless camp situated between the warehouse district and a sprawling junkyard. Nic perched on the ledge of a broken-in window of an abandoned factory. Fog hugged the landscape, as the sun, which had only just recently escaped cloud cover, began to set.

_If I’m what Monroe wants so badly, I should go back._

“No,” Worick frowned. “There’s something off about this whole scenario. I just don’t know what it is yet.”

Nic had been thinking about this, too. But his conclusions were different. Worick figured that fucking-up Trevor was enough to cause a war, but Nic had been thinking that maybe Worick placed too much value on pawns. 

Sure, Corsica would resent an invasion into his space, but Mafia guys respected the idea that you don’t screw around with what doesn’t belong to you. Nobody at Big Mama’s was supposed to service Twilights, anyway, that was Corsica’s rule. Trevor appeared to have crossed that line, and when you added on that Monroe didn't like his toys played with…? Well, some might figure Trevor got his comeuppance, fair and square--that he was the guy who'd pissed off two Family men. So now he doesn’t have a face. Like you might expect. 

It was kind of poetic, really. You don’t give the Big Men ‘face,’ you don’t have a face of your own any more.

Monroe might not even be that angry. This was just the sort of message you sent. Only guilt made Worick see it differently.

Anyway, shit like this was a game ender for pawns like them. There weren’t a lot of moves left on the board. No one was going to give them shelter now. Worick wasn’t going to be able to work his usual connections; no upright woman in town would risk her face. They’d be lucky to find someone willing to sell them food. They’d be broke and starving in a matter of days. Hell, they were already homeless.

Nic hadn’t counted what remained of the Celebrer, but it was going faster than he’d anticipated.

And, with goons gunning for them, they couldn’t afford him not being at his sharpest.

Leaping down from the ledge, Nic stood in front of Worick for a long moment. Worick looked up at him, smoking thoughtfully. Nic considered beating the shit out of Worick and leaving him. He could go back to Monroe, unencumbered, that way. Nic would be in deep shit for turning on his contract holder, though Worick would be free to say he wasn’t strong enough to control Nic and could sell up finally…. 

But something about that last thought caused Nic to hesitate long enough to ask, _If you’re subletting my contract to Monroe, what are you getting in exchange?_

Worick blinked. “Nothing. My stupid-ass life, I guess?”

_You didn’t even ask for a stipend? Not even a one time fee?_

“Ai! Ask for money for you?” Worick made a face as he flicked the remaining stub of his cigarette across the alley. He wiped his hands on his upraised knees, and then pulled himself to his feet. “I couldn’t do that. I don’t…” his lips pressed together. His expression was miserable as he said, “... fuck, Nic, I don’t really know how much you’re worth, okay? Even if it didn’t make me sick to think of it, I don’t have a clue what a contract like yours even goes for.”

 _You paid a price once_. Nic said, managing to keep his hands from shaking as he formed the words. _You must have some clue._

Worick’s face went pale and he winced. He slumped back against the wall like Nic had punched him. He looked deflated when he said, “I’m pretty sure you were undersold.” He rubbed his fingers underneath his eyepatch, massaging the scars there. “Can we not talk about this? It hurts. It literally fucking hurts me. What the fuck does this have to do with anything, anyway?”

 _These are businessmen we’re dealing with_ , Nic signed. Stepping back, he waited for Worick to catch up, to get his meaning. Nic stepped back to get a full view. After all, he might as well savor this moment. It didn’t happen often that he got to be faster on the uptake than Worick.

The sunset’s brilliant oranges and reds shone against Worick’s pale blond hair. Slowly, his expression shifted from crumpled confusion to understanding. “...And you technically belong to me, not Monroe,” Worick said. “And since I never asked for anything in return before, I’m owed. Given the shit you’ve probably already done for Monroe, I bet I'm owed big.”

 _Now is the time to call in your favor_ , Nic agreed with a nod. _You just have to decide what it is you want._

**Author's Note:**

> The soap continues! Thanks to Josey for her typo-spotting, etc., as always.


End file.
